motivation to live properly

I nearly died last night. Again. I wish I remembered the whole incident. Maybe it would motivate me more to live properly.

My husband told me that I stopped breathing. He shook me; I gasped for breath. He listened to my heart; it was racing. All I do remember is rolling over and continuing on with my dreams. Dreaming, dreaming, always dreaming. Sometimes I feel like I fail to live in reality at all. And yet, sometimes, like when I'm in the midst of a spiritual battle, reality seems more real than ever before. That may seem odd to you -- she feels like reality is more real when there are spirits involved -- but it doesn't to me.

In any case, I woke up and listened to my husband's account of how I had nearly suffocated in the middle of the night and I resolved that if I was going to go out, it wasn't going to be with a neglected house and children. I was going to leave my legacy: the place would be orderly, the children would be attended to, dinner would comprise of colorful balanced side dishes, warm and on the table. I would not be leaving this earth with laundry undone and the floor unswept and library books which had still not yet been read to the children. No sir. Not me.

And of course, I would leave letters for everyone. Letters of how I felt about them and how much they meant to me and how I prayed for them and wished them well and how I would continue praying and that my spirit would always be with them, even if I were gone. But then, all that is probably rather unnecessary, since I send my sentiments constantly.

My grandparents are still alive. A few months ago, I sent them the letter I would read as their eulogy. Is that crazy? Rude? I didn't think so at the time. But as always, I tend to doubt myself. When I wrote it, I figured, "Why should I wait until they're gone to tell them how I love them?" They appreciated the letter. But still, it's a little...strange.

I have some crazy insane need to tell everyone everything about myself. Expose all my struggles and vulnerabilities. It's not so much that I'm looking for sympathy. It's more that I want others to know they're not alone. Maybe they want to be alone. I don't know. I try to give to everyone the things I never had. And that's why I'm always listening to others, sharing with others, relating to others. For ten years, I dreamed of being a counselor to teens, mostly because when I was a teen, I never had a good counselor. I started a natural birth meetup group, mostly because when I was pregnant and planning an out-of-hospital birth, no one was around to answer my questions. I have often taken up projects simply because I wished someone had done it for me. Perhaps that's the wrong way to approach life. I don't know.

My friend told me he doubts that it's understanding he wants. That took me by surprise. Doesn't every person in the world want to be understood? Doesn't every one want to know that he's not alone. Doesn't every one want to relate to others somehow? Isn't everyone in the world just a little bit needy like me? I'd like to think that. But perhaps that's not reality at all. Perhaps I should just keep to myself and volunteer information only when asked. Perhaps I've been going about this friendship thing all wrong. Maybe nobody is really interested in knowing my whole life story. It's my life story, maybe I should just keep it to myself. Write an autobiography. Get it published posthumously. Get something published anyway.

It's not understanding he wants. Perhaps that's why he claims no god. So what does he want then? I wonder if I'll ever know. I pray for him. Often. I pray he'll get whatever it is he really wants. Whatever the Lord really wants for him. Do those things coincide for him? Do they coincide for me? For the vast majority of us? Probably not. But I pray the Lord's will be done, in any case.